Well, if she was willing to talk to him, Max wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He crossed his arms and leaned a hip against one of the workbenches. “And I was surprised to find a metal engraver’s workshop in the inn.”
“Ye ken what this place is?” Before the question was even complete, her expression cleared. “Och, ye’re an American, are ye no’?”
“I am.” He didn’t bother hiding the pleased grin.
“Aye, I can tell by yer marvelous accent. Ye must’ve arrived with Mr. DeVille. Have ye spent time at Oliphant Engraving? Is that how ye ken about metal engraving?”
Blinking, he tried to follow her jumps in logic. She thought he’d arrived with Mr. DeVille?
But when he opened his mouth to set her straight, something entirely different came out. “You think my accent is marvelous?”
She chuckled as she wiped her hands on a rag, cleaning off the engravers’ oil. “Aye, of course. It is a well-kenned fact the American accent is just heavenly to listen to. In comparison, Scottish men sound positively dull!”
“Really? I think your accent is charming.”
Was he flirting with her? He was, wasn’t he?
“Dinnae be silly. Yer voice is much more appealing.”
When she smiled at him, his body’s reaction was visceral: something reached down into his stomach and tugged, and he felt his cock harden in response.
Down, cowboy.
Clearing his throat, he shifted his stance, hoping to hide his arousal. “Yeah, well, we might have to agree to disagree on that one.” Hurrying to distract her, he asked, “But what is this place? Is it a part of Oliphant Engraving?”
And why didn’t I know about it?
She waved her hand dismissively, then reached behind her back to untie the heavy leather apron the engravers and machinists all wore. On her it looked big, as if it had been sized for a man.
“This was my—” She hid her stumble by pulling the apron over her head, knocking her old-fashioned mop cap askew. “This workshop belonged to Baroness Oliphant’s second husband. He was the manager of Oliphant Engraving—the best engraver the Oliphants had seen in a generation! And when he married her, he set this place up for himself to tinker in.”
As she spoke, she stretched up to hang the apron alongside the tools, and Max found himself studying her rear end. It was a nice rear end; one he wouldn’t mind getting close enough to feel.
His palms were itching at the thought actually.
Well, hell, what is it about this girl?
She turned back to him, arranging her cap and tucking in a few strands of hair, before he could really see the color. Her smile was slight but lacked guile. He didn’t think she was flirting with him; as far as he could tell, she was treating him just like any other guest.
And to his surprise, he was irritated by that. He wanted to treat her like someone special, and for her to do the same to him.
Hmm.
His brain, in an effort to rescue him from the silence threatening to stretch too long, prompted his mouth to blurt out, “Baroness Oliphant!”
As her hands stilled their mop-cap-arrangements, one of her dark brows lifted. “Baroness Oliphant what?”
“What?”
“What about Baroness Oliphant? Or was that like a curse? Oh Baroness Oliphant, I just slammed my thumb in the drawer! Or By Baroness Oliphant, it was hot out there today! Or were ye just commenting on her general Baroness Oliphantness?”
Chuckling, Max shook his head, his hands dropping to his hips. “None of those things, but now that you mention it, I could see using her name that way.”
“Aye, but dinnae let her hear ye. She’s nasty, and I speak from experience.”
Remembering the way he overheard the proprietress yelling for that poor girl, Max had to nod in agreement. “I can see that. But I guess what I was asking is, is she really a Baroness?”
“Sometimes, I think if she were no’, she would’ve invented a way to be called Baroness anyhow. Maybe changing her name so it was legally her first name?” The girl shrugged and sent him another grin over her shoulder as she fetched a small dustpan and tiny brush. “But aye, she’s a lady, where the definition of lady is a little loose, I must say.”
He watched her efficiently sweep the metal shavings from the worktable, as if she’d done it many times before. “I’m from America, where we don’t have lords and ladies.”
“One of yer more charming characteristics,” she quipped, throwing him another grin over her shoulder, which had him shifting again as his trousers got tighter. “Although I ken some Americans can be raised to almost lord-like status.”
The way she said it made it sound as if she had someone specific in mind, but he couldn’t imagine who it’d be. Instead, he continued. “Well, I just mean that I don’t know a lot about ladies, but I was surprised to see one running an inn.”
As she dumped the shavings into the bin, the girl gasped so theatrically, it had to be in mock outrage. “Not just an inn, sir, but The Inn. With capital letters!” As she returned the pan to its place, she sent him a teasing smile. “The Oliphant Inn was originally a manor home, as ye can imagine, belonging to the Barons Oliphant. Baroness Oliphant’s first husband—Lord Oliphant, not to be confused with Laird Oliphant, whose wife was also Lady Oliphant, although that was a title and not a name, as Lady Oliphant’s— Wait, where was I?”
He grinned. “Baroness Oliphant’s first husband.”
“Right.”
When she nodded and brushed her hands down her apron, his gaze followed and lingered
